A poet's yet to born

three two one
I'm done,
thought a lot of whole.
Lived a life of prose and fight,
let poetry be my Goal.
Friends are here,
hope they cheer
as I make a piece,
hope they write
on every byte
hope they laugh and tease.
I love them all,
who read my book
who raise me little high,
who praise my work
or breaks my heart
by telling little lie.
Hope I share,
Oh, my dear,
All that I can't
alone bear.
All that I kept locked in my heart,
all that I can write in spurt.
I bow to all,
who raise me or fall
or gives me little thorn,
I bow to all,
I bow to all,
a poet's yet to born.